


The Client From Hell

by EmeraldAshes



Series: Ineffable Husbands Oneshots [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Office, Awkward Crush, Awkward Flirting, Everybody Knows Everybody's Business, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Nobody Respects Newt Pulsifer, Open Concept Offices Keep No Secrets, Workplace, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 03:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21111593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldAshes/pseuds/EmeraldAshes
Summary: Aziraphale couldn't fathom why his coworkers hated this particular client so much. Crowley was perfectly pleasant to him.





	The Client From Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [授权翻译 | 地狱客户](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24146224) by [Regulusinleo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regulusinleo/pseuds/Regulusinleo)

“Fuck,” Gabriel said loudly, attracting the attention of the entire office. That was the trouble with the open concept model, Aziraphale supposed. Nothing was ever private, and the things that were done in private attracted far too much attention. 

Take, for example, the moment this morning when Aziraphale had put in his two weeks’ notice.

“You okay, Gabe?” Michael asked, not bothering to look up from her work.

Gabriel spoke with the finality of a man condemned. “Crowley’s coming in.”

“Fuck,” Michael responded, then said, “Aziraphale, you’ve got this.”

“Should I really be…”

Sandalphon popped up from behind the mountain of paperwork that teetered on his desk. “You’re the only one he likes.”

“Erm, under the circumstances…”

Gabriel gave him a cold look. “You turning traitor, you mean?”

If it were anyone else, they would have been joking, but Aziraphale was quite certain that Gabriel was dead serious. The blond winced. “Yes. Yes, that.”

“You’re not gone yet. I still want you on this,” Gabriel said. 

“You will have to handle him once I’m gone, you know. And he really isn’t that bad.”

Gabriel snorted. “I put Michael on that account for two weeks, and she threatened to quit.”

“Do it again, and I will absolutely quit,” Michael affirmed.

“What about Sandal --”

“I just quit smoking,” Sandalphon interrupted. “I’ve been doing _so well_. Also, I’m busy with the Armageddon Project.”

Aziraphale turned to Gabriel, who immediately snapped, “Don’t even try to put this one on me. Every time that asshole walks in, my day goes to hell. And he’s one of the  _ nicer _ ones over there.”

Aziraphale sighed, deciding that this wasn’t a battle worth fighting. It wasn’t like he was unwilling to see Crowley, after all. If history was any indication, it would be the highlight of his week. “I’m happy to take care of things for today, but you will need a solution eventually.”

Gabriel said, “Introduce him to Pulsifer, then. He can take over when you leave.”

Aziraphale winced, imagining precisely how well that arrangement would go.1 “Are you quite sure? I mean, it’s only Newt’s second week, and he’s...erm, I’m not quite sure how to put this.”

“A weakling?”

Aziraphale turned to Newt Pulsifer, who was sitting two desks over, and assured him, “That is not what I was going to say. It’s just that Crowley is a very particular sort of client. You have to be more experienced to work with him, I think.”

“Maybe Crowley will take pity on the poor bastard,” Michael drawled.

Aziraphale chuckled. “Oh, no, I don’t think that’s very likely.”

Gabriel said, “Take him or don’t. I don’t really care. Crowley’s coming in  _ today _ , by the way. At four.”

Aziraphale glanced at the clock: 3:25 pm. “I’ll get ready then, shall I?”

Anthony J. Crowley always arrived at meetings precisely on time. If you asked Crowley, he would shrug and imply that it was just an innate gift for punctuality. In actuality, he liked to show up at least an hour early to every out-of-office event and play on his phone in the parking lot. Any excuse to get out of that hellhole where he worked.

As usual, he strode in and instantly became the center of attention. Of course, he always had that effect on Aziraphale. The man was always striking, even during a simple email conversation. “Aziraphale! How are you? Terrorize any book clubs lately?”

Aziraphale sniffed, playing at offense. “You know very well that was a one-time thing. Unlike your obsession with torturing plants. How is that going, by the way? Everything blooming nicely?”

Crowley leaned in conspiratorially, peeking out over his signature sunglasses. His eyes were such a stunning shade, almost gold. “I had to make an example of an orchid. I’m still not sure its kids won’t grow up and lead an insurrection, but that’s the risk you run when you pick up gardening as a hobby.”

“I have no doubt you’ll put down any little rebellions,” Aziraphale said. “Now, we’ll be in the same meeting room as usual.”

Crowley glanced around the small office space. “The only meeting room, you mean.”

“The very one!” Aziraphale agreed.

“Sorry for just dropping in, by the way. The boss is in a mood. I probably could have handled everything with a phone call, but better to come here and get out of his way.”

“I absolutely understand. Now, let me introduce you to Newt Pulsifer. He’s new here.”

The blond gave the new employee an encouraging smile, and Newt very bravely stared at his shoes. “Err, hello there.”

Azirphale interrupted before Crowley could crush the poor boy’s already faltering self-confidence. “Newt, could you please fetch a coffee for Mr. Crowley? Two creams, one sugar. And tea for me; black is fine.”

Crowley watched Newt make his way to the kitchen, tripping and nearly taking out Sandalphon’s paperwork pile on the short journey. “Where’d they find that one?”

Aziraphale fought back a smile. “Oh, do be nice.”

They walked into the conference room. It was built for a large group, perhaps 50 people. Crowley settled into a seat at the head of the table and leaned back comfortably. “When have I ever been nice?”

“It’s always fun to try something new. And while we’re on the subject, I wanted to give you a heads-up about something. Frankly, I shouldn’t even be telling you this. It’s certainly against policy, but I consider you a friend and...I won’t be handling your account anymore. I just quit this morning.”

Crowley launched forward in his chair, sunglasses dropping down his nose. “You’re leaving?”

At that moment, Newt came in with the coffee, door clattering open as he tried to maneuver it with his elbows. Crowley turned to glare at him. “We’re talking. Get out.”

“Do you still want the, uh…?”

Crowley snatched his coffee and hissed, “Shoo.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Must you? He looks like a stiff wind could blow him away.”

“Someone’s gotta toughen him up. And don’t change the subject. What’s all this about, anyway? I always figured you were a lifer here.”

Aziraphale snorted. “You make it sound like prison.”

“Well, it clearly isn’t one if you can just  _ leave _ any time you like.”

Crowley stared into his coffee, eyes hidden by his sunglasses. Aziraphale wasn’t sure about the etiquette here. For a normal client, he would move on to the actual purpose of the meeting. For a colleague, he would offer a few words of positivity and encouragement. For a friend, he would be unleashing “please forgive me” puppy dog eyes and offering hugs. Crowley was all and none fo those things, however, so instead Aziraphale sat and waited.

“...How can I get you to stay?”

“Well, you can’t,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley finally looked up from his cup. “More money? I can get you more money. That boss of yours, she’ll give you more money if our contract’s on the line.”

“Crowley…”

“Any coworkers you need me to get fired? How’s the work environment?”

“I couldn’t complain,” Aziraphale said diplomatically.2

“Sounds awful. I can fix it.”

“Crowley. This is final. I’ve accepted another position.”

“Where are you going, then?”

Aziraphale glanced briefly at his laptop, gave the planned itinerary up as a lost cause, and closed it. “I can’t share that with you.”

Crowley leaned forward, moving just a little too far into the other man’s personal space, a rare smile on his face, tone almost teasing. “Oh, come on. How many years have we been working together?”

If Aziraphale wanted to move any farther away, he would have to scoot in his chair. The metal feet would screech and it would be terribly embarrassing and then he wouldn’t be feeling the warmth from Crowley’s so-close hands. So he stayed still.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t like to share it with you. I am contractually obligated to avoid stealing clients. I signed a non-solicitation agreement.”

Crowley said, “Hardly seems fair. I’m the one soliciting you.”

Aziraphale took a moment to remind himself that Crowley had almost certainly not meant that the way it had sounded. Then, he continued, “Regardless, they’ll sue  _ me _ . They’re quite serious about it. They kept going on about how I would have to pay their lawyer fees, and how their lawyers are paid very well.”3

“Fuck that. I’ll pay your lawyer fees.”

Aziraphale huffed. “No, you won’t because I won’t be breaking the contract with you. Honestly, Crowley, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

Crowley’s voice softened. “I would just...miss you. Working with you. You know what I mean.”

Aziraphale didn’t know. But he was almost ready to guess. “The world’s bigger than this office, you know. No one has to pay me to spend time with you.”

Crowley drummed his fingers on the table. He cleared his throat. “If you aren’t actually working with me anymore...and I were to ask you out for a drink, then that wouldn’t be sexual harassment, would it?”

Aziraphale flushed, glancing quickly at the hand in easy reach, then the quirked lips just as close. “No, certainly not. Not at all.”

Crowley smiled. “Good.”

“And if I were to accept,” Aziraphale said slowly. “Then that wouldn’t be improper.”

“Be more improper to say ‘no,’ I think.”

Aziraphale grabbed the other man’s hand, earning a surprised look, then a gentle squeeze. Crowley said, “So, uh, when do you get off?”

One-handed, Aziraphale cracked open his laptop to check the time. “Technically 20 minutes ago. We have flexible hours, you see, and I’m an early riser.”

Crowley rose, tugging Aziraphale up with him. “Of course you are. Is there a pub around here?”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, but I’ve been told the service is terrible.”

Crowley laughed, moving closer to whisper in the blond’s ear. “That’s alright. I’m can be pretty terrible too.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Picture, if you will, a herd of bulls set loose in a China Shop. Also, the bulls are on fire.  

> 
> 2 Complaining about one’s workplace to professional contacts is highly unprofessional. If Aziraphale could complain, however, then he would have a great deal to say.  

> 
> 3 Aziraphale had his doubts about this. He had been working at this company for six years now, and he had yet to meet anyone who was well paid. 
> 
> Fellow Good Omens writers...Any suggestions for setting up footnotes? My attempts to follow a couple of online guides led to some very broken HTML. 😅


End file.
